Bunny Slippers
by Captainraychill
Summary: Hermione Granger should take the advice of her gay mirror. Dramione, one-shot, complete! Dedicated to Bunney :)


**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognize is not mine. No profit is being made by me.

**Warnings:** Rated Mature for Sexual Content and Language

**Author's Notes: **This story is dedicated to Bunney. Thank you for the delightful plot bunny, which is: "Draco and Hermione have been dating awhile, and Hermione always looks very pulled together and elegant. One night, he shows up at her flat unannounced. She's got her hair in a pony, is wearing pajamas and fuzzy slippers, no makeup...and he's blown away by the force of his desire for her." I skipped the ponytail, but other than that… Enjoy!

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**BUNNY SLIPPERS**

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**Wednesday, 7:05 PM**

"Hermione," Draco snapped. She could practically _feel_ his anger through the front door of her flat, like the heat of a fire. "Let me in right now."

"No. It's not my fault that you're rich and don't work and have no concept of Thursday."

"I sent you an owl to reschedule."

"Never got it. Come back tomorrow. I'll be ready then, at seven o'clock."

"Hermione!" Draco pounded his fist hard against the door, and Hermione jumped back. She felt her skin tingle in warning as the wards that protected her home rippled.

This was not good. In fact, this was very, very bad. He sounded determined to see her, despite the fact that he was clearly not invited until tomorrow. However, she was equally determined that he _didn't_ see her.

Not like this.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror in her foyer and frowned. She looked bloody awful. She was dressed for a comfortable night in front of the telly, alone, wearing a blue tee-shirt, no bra (or knickers for that matter) and red, cotton pajama bottoms printed with a pattern of dancing Kneazles. And her hair… It was hopeless. It hung loose down her back, a mass of bushy curls. Her face was freshly scrubbed from her shower, with no make-up to cover the freckles on her nose. She glanced down at her feet and wiggled her toes inside her white, fuzzy, bunny slippers. The bunnies' pink button noses seemed to sniff the air for carrots.

"Darling," her charmed reflection said from inside the mirror. It spoke in her voice, if her voice were doing the stereotypical impression of a flaming gay man. "Turn that frown upside down," it continued. "You look absolutely adorable. A-dor-a-ble."

Hermione gazed at her reflection and rolled her eyes. She'd grown to like her mirror's flamboyant personality. When Harry and Ron visited, they practically ran into the living room to avoid calling themselves (respectively) _one hot, heroic hunk of man flesh_ and _ummm… ummm… my sizzling, ginger lover_. Which was quite entertaining. And the mirror always told her the truth or so she had believed until now.

"I'm not adorable," she muttered. "I look like hell. He can't see me like this."

"Why not, sweetie?"

_Because he might not like me anymore._

Draco hadn't noticed her until after The Makeover.

Hermione liked looking pretty as much as the next witch. However, it simply took too much time and effort to look good. She didn't have hours to style her hair or curl her lashes or shop for clothes. She had a busy schedule and more important things to do.

A girls' weekend bonding with Ron's bride-to-be, Lavender, had changed all that. She'd been introduced to two products: Eazier Sleekeazy's hair potion, which tamed her wild hair into glossy curls, and the Beauty Stick, a wand designed to apply customized cosmetic glamours. Both worked their magic in under a minute. These tools, along with the elegant clothes and shoes that the girls had forced her to buy, had resulted in more than one (or thirty) shocked glance when she'd entered the Ministry for work the following Monday morning, her red high heels clicking on the marble floor.

One of these shocked glances had quickly transformed into a smoldering glance. Draco Malfoy had jumped up onto the raised edge of the Fountain of Magical Brethren to skirt the crowd and catch the same lift as her.

"Nice shoes, Granger," he'd said in a voice that had sent her heart racing. In under a minute, he'd asked her out for coffee at a Diagon Alley café, and she'd accepted.

Their Tuesday coffee date had led to a Saturday at the museum, a Sunday matinee, a Wednesday dinner and then a Friday night out dancing. By midnight, regardless of the tempo of the songs playing, he'd held her close and they'd danced slowly. Their first kiss had been an hour in the making as he'd stroked the nape of her neck and brushed his lips against her ear and whispered his secret desires. When his lips had finally claimed hers, the kiss had been so hot that her knickers had practically combusted. "Your bed," she'd whispered in his ear, and then they were in it – a large, mahogany affair with white sheets – ripping off each other's clothes. She'd come twelve times that night.

Needless to say, things were going well.

With each conversation and each kiss, Hermione fell deeper, but part of her was afraid. Since his pursuit of her had begun, Draco had yet to see her without the shiny lacquer of her new appearance. She always left his bed and the Manor before he woke up, placing a sexy note on her vacated pillow so he wouldn't question why.

What if he didn't like how she looked without her sleek hairstyle and make-up? What if he wasn't attracted to the _real_ her? He certainly hadn't paid any attention to her before The Makeover.

"Hermione!" Draco shouted, still pounding on her door. "Open up!"

"Girl," her charmed reflection said. "You'd better let that man in before he knocks a hole in your door."

"No," she said. "Our date is on Thursday, and it's Wednesday. Schedules must be maintained."

"Whatever," the mirror scoffed. "You're head-over-perky-little-tits for Mr. Wonderful, and I want to see what he looks him. Come on in, handsome!"

"Shut up!" Hermione hissed. She took two steps back until she wasn't in front of the mirror anymore, but it was too late. The damage had been done. She heard Draco's voice outside the door, soft and disbelieving.

"Is there someone in there with you, Hermione?"

"No," she answered. Technically, that was true.

"Are you – are you in danger? Hermione!" She heard the rising panic in his tone.

"Of course not! I'm fine."

After a second of silence, a tremor ran through her body as her wards were violently attacked. She heard a crackle of power, like wild electricity, and saw light flash around the edges of her front door. The sparks changed from white to red to blue to green, as Draco aimed different offensive spells at her protections. She stepped closer to the door. It radiated heat like a raging bonfire. If she touched it, she'd be burned.

"Trust him," her reflection said gently. She looked at herself – freckles, messy hair, chapped lips and all. "He might surprise you."

Hermione sighed. She walked back into the living room, picked up her wand and muttered the incantation that lifted her wards. With a loud explosion of purple light, her front door was blasted off its hinges. It landed a meter from her, its white paint blistered and black with scorch marks.

Through a haze of smoke, she saw Draco standing in the frame of the doorway. Except for a streak of soot on one pale cheek, he looked perfect. As usual. Tall and lean, his black dress robes impeccable and his blond hair smooth.

He also looked as if he were ready to commit murder. His wand was still raised, his knuckles even whiter than his white skin. His gray eyes shone with a fierce intensity. When the smoke cleared and she met his gaze, his eyes widened in shock.

It was going to happen. He was going to dump her.

Might as well get it over with.

"I'm not in danger," Hermione said. "And no one's in here with me. I was just talking to the charmed reflection in my mirror. I didn't… I didn't want to let you in because of how I look tonight. I'm not put together as you can see. I didn't expect company. On a Wednesday."

She crossed her arms over her bra-less chest, lifted her chin defiantly and waited for his rejection.

Ten seconds later, she added, "Oh, and that's why I haven't ever stayed overnight at the Manor."

Ten seconds after that, Draco lowered his wand and stepped over the threshold. His eyes had lost none of their intensity, and his breathing was labored. He looked handsome, powerful and irresistibly dangerous, facts that didn't escape her or her mirror.

"Oh, my!" Draco's reflection exclaimed in Draco's voice, if he were doing an impression of the gayest man in the history of gay men. "Look at you, striking like white-hot lightning. Those stormy eyes. Those cheekbones. And is that an _erection_ I see, love? Care to show a mirror more?"

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Draco had felt more in the last ten minutes than he had in entire _years_.

Giddy anticipation when he'd knocked on Hermione's door. Aggravation and then fury when she'd refused him admittance. Shock and jealousy at the sound of the other voice. Heart-stopping fear at the thought she might be in peril. Then in quick, overwhelming succession – panic, aggression, the compulsion to save her, triumph when the door gave way and relief at the sight of her slender silhouette in the misty smoke. She was safe, wand in hand.

And because the gods were ruthless and enjoyed the emotional tumult of mortals, when the smoke cleared, Draco was overcome by a sweep of desire more powerful than any he'd ever felt before.

He stared at Hermione, transfixed.

Since her red heels had caught his eye that morning in the Ministry atrium, he'd seen her look stylish and elegant, sophisticated and sultry - but always, always polished. It was a lovely artifice, but an artifice nonetheless. Now, she looked _real_. Natural. Soft. And so beautiful that his cock and, strangely, his heart ached.

Her long hair was a riot of frizzy curls, erotic in its complete abandon. She wore a blue tee-shirt and slouchy, red pajama pants with a print of some kind of fat, fluffy animal dancing on them. Her slippers were fluffy, too. It looked like she'd cruelly shoved her feet into the backs of two, white rabbits. And her face... It was radiant. Her cheeks were flushed pink. Her eyes were wide and bright without the subtle smokiness of her cosmetics. She had pale freckles on the bridge of her nose. He'd never noticed that before. And her lips – without lipstick, they were a sweet, rose-pink. He'd seen that color somewhere before…

She said something about a charmed mirror and then: "I didn't want to let you in because of how I look tonight."

Was she mental? She looked bloody gorgeous. He'd never seen anything more adorable in his life, and he'd traveled the globe. He'd seen baby polar bears frolicking through an ice castle, for Christ's sake.

When Hermione crossed her arms and frowned, Draco suddenly placed the natural color of her lips. They were the same rose-pink as her nipples. At this realization, he gazed down at her tee-shirt and realized she wasn't wearing a bra. She said something else, but he didn't hear it over the slamming of his heart. Compelled by the force of his arousal, primal in his need to _take this woman_, Draco stepped forward.

"Oh my, look at you, striking like white-hot lightning!"

At the sound of his own voice, drastically altered and flirting with… himself, Draco experienced his fourteenth emotion of the night - confusion. He turned and saw his reflection in Hermione's foyer mirror. It continued to address him in an outrageously coquettish tone. "Those stormy eyes. Those cheekbones. And is that an _erection_ I see, love? Care to show a mirror more?"

Hermione gasped, and Draco smiled a wicked smile. Might as well have some fun, now. His reflection answered his smile by raising one pale eyebrow and silently daring him to _show a mirror more_. (Oddly, Draco had perfected his Eyebrow Move by practicing it in front of a mirror in first year.) He started flicking his jacket buttons out of their button holes, one by one.

"Mmmm, Daddy!" the mirror exclaimed. "Finally, a man who wants to plaaaay!"

Every time Draco released another button, his gay reflection made an exaggerated expression of maidenly surprise, putting the tips of its fingers over its mouth as if to say, _My goodness!_ When he shrugged out of his jacket, the reflection clawed the air with both hands and made a cat-like roaring sound. It then proceeded to admire its own broad shoulders with coy glances to the left and right.

"Oh my God," Hermione muttered.

"Hermione," Draco chastised. "This doesn't concern you. It's between me and me."

"He's a keeper, sweetie," the mirror called out. "And I'm keeping him."

"Well, don't let me interrupt your big, gay, wanking, incestuous, self-love _thing_."

Draco glanced at Hermione, a quip on his tongue. But at the sight of her – hair tousled, eyes bright with ire and one of her bunny slippers hopping up and down as she tapped her foot in annoyance – he was swept away by her beauty all over again.

"Maybe later," he addressed the mirror before blowing it a kiss and walking out of the frame.

"Oh, lover!" gay Draco cried out before he ceased to exist.

Decidedly-not-gay Draco stalked toward Hermione, his gaze predatory. She took a step back. He walked over the door he'd blasted onto the floor, pulled her into his arms and kissed her so ardently that her knees gave out. At least, he assumed that's what happened - _yes, I am a sex god!_ - when she wobbled and slipped awkwardly down his chest, her hands scrabbling at his shoulders. However, this also caused her lips to slide away from his, which was unacceptable. He leaned forward and picked her up, his arms wrapped around her waist, her bunny slippers dangling. On instinct, she threw her arms around his neck. He shivered as he felt her fingers in his hair. Her touch anywhere near the nape of his neck always drove him wild. He carried her to the first wall he found that wasn't near the foyer.

It was in the living room and painted Hufflepuff yellow. He pressed her back against it, between a tall bookcase and a framed da Vinci print. In a miracle of synchronicity, Hermione spread her legs and wrapped them around Draco's hips as he surged forward. The second their mouths met in a hungry kiss, his hard cock rubbed against her soft, warm, pajama-clad pussy. He groaned against her lips and moved his hands under her arse, holding her in place as he pumped his hips forward. She met each thrust.

The sensations – they were all too much. The thrilling friction against his cock, even though their clothes. Her passionate kisses. Her hands stroking the back of his neck again. He was hot and dizzy and trembling and _this_ close to coming, all at once. He had to slow down or risk embarrassing himself.

"Hermione," Draco murmured, gentling his pace. "Never lock me out again."

Dazed, she stared up at him. "What?"

"Never lock me out of your flat again."

"Oh. I can't promise that. You'll most likely be a prat in the future, and I reserve the right."

"Duly noted - but never lock me out because you think I don't want you. I will _always_ want you."

"Even with no make-up and in bunny slippers?" He became aware that the two fuzzy rabbits were resting against the backs of his thighs, and he laughed softly. If he'd blinked, he would have missed the hurt that darkened Hermione's eyes before she cast them down.

_I didn't want to let you in because of how I look tonight._

"Especially with no make-up and in bunny slippers," he said tenderly. He kissed Hermione. "When you're warm and soft and sweet." He nuzzled the side of her neck and heard her breath catch. "When you smell like that incredible lotion you use."

"Jergens Shea Butter?"

"Jergens Shea Butter is so fucking sexy. _You_ are so fucking sexy. Can't you feel how much I want you?" He pressed his erection against Hermione's pussy again, and she gasped, arching her back to bring them closer. "Answer me!"

Her eyes widened at the domineering tone of his voice, and she flushed when she answered him. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I can feel how much you want me."

"Good. Don't you ever forget it. Pajamas off. You have five seconds."

He pulled away and set Hermione's bunny slippered-feet on the floor before unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers. He was ready in four seconds, trousers pooled at his ankles and his pants slung around his thighs. Meanwhile, Hermione was struggling. She'd thrown a bunny over his shoulder and was sliding one slender leg out of her pajamas. When he saw the bare curve of her hip and a flash of delicate pink – _she isn't wearing any knickers!_ - he slapped his palm hard against the wall, trying to grasp at the last shreds of his ravaged control.

"What?" Hermione asked, glaring at him.

Once again, Draco was hot and dizzy and trembling and _this_ close to coming, all at once, but this time, he didn't care if he embarrassed himself.

"Now," he growled.

He lifted Hermione up, and she wrapped her legs around him – one lovely and naked, one lovely and clad in silly pajamas. He cupped her arse, and she tilted her hips at just the right angle. His cock dipped an inch into the ravishing heat of her pussy, and the muscles in his stomach shivered. He gazed at Hermione. There was a fierce light in her eyes. A frizzy curl fell over her face, and without thinking, the truth spilled out of his mouth.

"Hermione, you've never looked more beautiful than you do right now. I was a damned fool not to notice you before that morning."

Hermione smiled a brilliant smile, and Draco's couldn't help but kiss her. When her tongue stroked his, he slammed into her with one, swift thrust. They both cried out. It was hot and wet and perfect. A crush of rapture. Absolute torture for him not to move, so he did. He pounded into Hermione's pussy with all his strength, his rhythm fast and aggressive. He'd never appreciated the solidity of walls more in his life.

As he suspected, he didn't last long.

But he lasted long enough to bounce the da Vinci print off its hook and send it to the floor with a shatter of glass. He lasted long enough to rattle all the knick-knacks off the bookcase shelves as well as half the books and an Order of Merlin, First Class medal. _Hell, yeah!_ And thankfully, he lasted long enough for Hermione to clench her legs around him, pull his hair and come with wanton cries that hurtled him over the edge. With a wild shout, Draco drove hard into her one more time, shuddering through the shocking intensity of his orgasm. As they both melted onto the floor in drowsy bliss, he felt the soft fuzz of a bunny slipper tickle his hip. He smiled and pulled Hermione close.

They fucked two more times (over a kitchen counter - _bloody fantastic_ - and on the sofa) before Hermione mumbled something about the front door and neighbors. By this time, they were both naked. Draco transfigured his trousers into gray, cotton pajama bottoms and tugged them on. With a flick of his wand, he added a pattern of green, dancing snakes and nodded in approval.

He found the door where he'd left it, on the living room floor. When he went to inspect the ruined, brass hinges barely clinging to the doorframe, he heard an indignant, huffy, little sound. He turned and saw his gay reflection in the mirror. It looked like him - chest bare, hair messy and wearing dancing snake pajamas. But that was where the resemblance ended. The reflection was petulant, its arms crossed and its gaze averted. In profile, its chin was lifted high, and its bottom lip, stuck out in a spectacular pout.

"What's wrong with you?" Draco asked.

"As if you have to ask," his reflection said loftily, refusing to meet his gaze.

"I'm asking."

"Way to leave a mirror hanging," the reflection said, turning toward him. Its gray eyes glittered with wounded pride. Draco had seen that look before.

"I'm deeply sorry," he said. He was not very good at apologies, but it was easy to apologize to himself. Obviously, he was also easy to forgive.

"Apology accepted," the mirror whispered with a shy smile. "So… I see you took care of that erection, love."

"Oh, yes."

"More than once?"

Draco nodded once.

"More than _twice_?"

Draco nodded twice.

"Oh, my!" the gay reflection exclaimed, fanning its blushing cheeks. "It's like a sexual auction. Coming once! Coming twice! Coming three times!"

"Actually, if we're counting orgasms, Hermione had-"

"Stop!" the mirror shrieked, flapping its hands wildly. "I love that girl to pieces. Love her, but women… ewww!"

The reflection giggled, and Draco laughed. He decided that he liked this gay mirror. He let it flirt with him shamelessly as he repaired Hermione's door. It went into palpitations over his muscled chest and back and his _flat, sexy_ _slab o' abs_. They needed _a good licking, mmm-hmmm_, a fact that Draco would have to share with Hermione.

And if he happened to flex his bicep, once or twice, when he lifted his wand… Well, those particular spells took a great deal of strength and manly concentration.

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**THE END**

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**Thanks for reading - reviews are welcomed! Love, Captainraychill**


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